ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Two

Freya

Arella absentmindedly plays with a lock of my hair as she sits on my lap, facing me. She still hasn't spoken a word. Which is to be expected. We've only known her for a week now and all that time has been spent in a small hospital room as nurses come and go.

A psychologist came and spoke to me on the third day. He did an assessment on Arella, determining she was behind others her age. I could care less. All I care about is making sure she's happy, healthy, and safe.

And while I haven't gotten a smile out of her, I plan to soon. Arella seems to be becoming more comfortable with Damon and I. We take turns staying the night with her in the hospital, always one of us sleeping in bed with her.

Arella suddenly shifts in my lap, pulling up the pretty pink dress I bought her. Her face scrunches up while she points to the nub of her left thigh, then points to my left leg.

"What's the matter, baby girl." I question, brushing her short hair away from her face.

The tendrils were too tangled and matted for a brush to get through. Damon had to call in a hair stylist to cut it. The dark brown strands now brush the tops of her ears. We were able to give her some bangs, though.

They're adorable and Arella seems to like them. That's good enough for me.

She jabs her nub again, then points to my leg, frustration contorting her face. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, then finally notice what she's trying to say.

"Oh," Trying to put into age appropriate words why I have a leg and she doesn't is hard, "When you were a little baby growing in your Mommy's tummy, your leg didn't grow properly. That's why you have a nubby."

Arella doesn't seem to understand a word I'm saying. She just shakes her tiny nub and leans against my chest again.

She sighs sweetly, reaching up to play with my hair again. Leaning over, I grab the remote to turn on the television. Over the last few days, Damon and I learned that she enjoys cartoons. A lot. She's fascinated by the television.

"Do you want to watch some tv?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

Cartoons play on low volume while I text my oldest son, Andrea. At nineteen, he's the spitting image of his father, preparing to be Don one day. The only difference between the two is his lack of tattoos. Andrea doesn't believe in inking up his skin.

He wants to come meet Arella. Text after text, begging to meet the toddler that has us so captivated. We've been trying to keep Arella's exposer to men little to none. She's terrified of them. We've told her about our four sons, but I truly don't think she understands.

Another text from Andrea pops up on my screen. He's threatening to just show up anyways, so I finally agree to let him visit. It won't be long before his brothers find out. They'll be banging at the door soon enough.

Pulling up the family chat, I tell them they can come one by one and that they better be on their best behavior.

My youngest, Alessandro, just replies back with a thumbs up emoji. He's the quietest of my boys. He tends to stick to himself and doesn't really care what others think of him. He rarely comes out of his room, burying himself in technology instead.